A Troublesome Mind
by Solid-Falcon
Summary: Takes place right after the final saber duel in The Force Awakens. While Rey is whisked off by her friends to safety as Star Killer Base crumbles, what becomes of Kylo Ren...?


Hey its, uh, been a while. A long while, actually. xD

Saw The Force Awakens, got inspired, wrote a little one-shot drabble! Figured I'd upload it here. :]

For those of you who followed for my Grievous fanfic, thank you for all the years of support! I am kind've leaning on the idea of rewriting the entire thing, since I've learned a lot with writing over the years. But we'll see!

For now, please enjoy this little drabble and thank you for reading!

* * *

His back collided hard with the ground, a puff of air wheezed out of his lungs as a silent yelp of pain escaped him. Everything was aching severely. There was not a single place on his mortal being, physically or mentally, that was not screaming out in sheer agony at this very moment. And yet, here he was, still struggling to get back up; his fingers twitching as he trembled to move. Pain was power, suffering was power. This was only fueling his desire more. But his will to fight was not as strong as he had hoped.

Everything was shutting down.

His eyes, once pinched tightly to the pain that burned away on his face, peered open; looking up at the figure who had bested him. A woman. So small in size; her brown hair was pulled back tightly, but loose strands messily framed her rounded face. A face, once innocent and pure, now filled with unbridled rage. She stared down at him, the blue glow from saber she held barely illuminating her in the dark. He could sense it, the intense anger boiling away in her. It was slowly bubbling up, it wanted out.

Her breaths were heavy, her grip on the hilt of the saber was so tight her knuckles were going white. She had not delivered the final blow yet... Was she contemplating it? Weighing her options? Was she afraid of what could happen? Why was she just staring at him like a mad beast? And though he lay defeated at her feet, he found himself unafraid of her. No. In fact, he found himself in great astonishment. He had underestimated her, entirely, and was fascinated by it.

But the ground shook, she stumbled back, he pushed himself up onto his arm to see. The ground split between them, separating them. The world was crumbling around them. They stared at each other, through the darkness, across a newly formed chasm. And then, the blue of the saber flicked off, and the blur of grey and white vanish into the woods. She was gone.

He remained propped up on his arm to watch her disappear from his view before he collapsed back onto the snow; releasing a pained groan of great discomfort. He felt the ground beneath him trembling, still, even after the ground had split open. He glanced downward, lifting his head, to see the edge of the newly formed cliff he was on. It was crumbling steadily up toward him. His head flopped back and his eyes closed tightly and he released a growling sigh of annoyance.

The station was collapsing, what a terrible inconvenience.

Grabbing his saber and strapping it back to his belt; he turned, a strained noise escaping him as he flopped himself onto his stomach. That took more effort than it should have, and it caused all his wounds to burn worse than when he was just lying there. But with the ground crumbling slowly beneath him, laying around until he felt better was not an option. And so he began crawling. Grabbing at roots, rocks, snow, dirt, whatever he could to pull himself across the ground. He did manage to find some strength to get to his hands and knees, but the pain stinging through his leg and arm often left him crumbling back over into the snow. Not to mention his muscles were just so tired after exerting that much energy while wounded.

Inching across the ground like a worm; his body stung, and so did his pride. Not just because he lost to the Scavenger, no, as far as he was concerned; it took _three_ people to take him down. But what stung is pride was the fact he was reduced to squirming across the ground like an insect. He, the heir to Vader's legacy, wiggling about in vain attempts to save his dwindling life from a volatile space station. He should be walking away with his head held high, regardless of his wounds, not writhing about like a grub. He was disgusted with himself.

... _Disgusted with him self_...

A sharp pain shot through his chest as unpleasant memories flooded to the surface. Reliving that moment, again; _the look on his face, the warmth of his hand._ He wasn't disappointed, why wasn't he disappointed? Why wasn't he angry with him? Disgusted? _Come home._ His jaw tightened as his teeth pressed together, a lump formed in his throat and he felt his eyes steaming, though no tears fell. He struggled to push himself to his side, allowing him to hit the wound left by the wookiee's bowcaster with his fist. The self-inflicted pain was intense, it caused him to grit his teeth, but it numbed the feelings; replaced the memories with thoughts of rage.

The station violently trembled beneath him; his crawling was getting more and more tiresome; his stamina was quickly draining and his wounds weren't making it any easier on him. Explosions erupted around him, the ground was splitting, shaking, morphing. It was making it difficult to keep moving, especially when his path kept splitting into gorges or rising into steep mountains. Eventually, he reached a wall. Quite literally. The ground rose up in front of him and he fumbled to the side, rolling away from the rising chunks of rock to reach a safer spot. He lifted his head, wobbling, staring up at this new roadblock, before his head fell over into the snow. He had completely exhausted himself.

And it was then a bright search light from above spotted him. His tired gaze lifted as the sounds of engines roared closer toward him. And only did a moment pass before multiple hands grabbed hold of him and hoisted him upward like a ragdoll. Quickly, the armored men carried him, by his arms and legs, onto a near by hovering ship that awaited them. Though his vision was quickly fading to a tunnel of black, he could make out white blurs. Stormtroopers. The First Order had found him. His eyelids fell shut.

 _Come home..._

* * *

For the first time in a seemingly long time, Kylo Ren found himself completely soothed and calmed. His breathes were easy, his body was light, his mind was silent. Yes. Silent. It had been a while since he could recall what having quiet thoughts was like. It was... Unsettling. Given the events that had transpired not but what felt like a few hours ago; he should be in a fit of rage at the fact he had failed The First Order. And he would have been slicing away at the nearest objects if not for the fact he was floating in a tank of Bacta.

He couldn't recall how he got here; not entirely anyway. He slept the whole trip back to the _Finalizer,_ or at least what could count for sleep anyway. He could just barely hear muffled voices as he lulled in and out of his unconscious state; and he was certain he recognized General Hux, specifically, barking orders to get Ren to the infirmary as quickly as possible. After that, there was just panicked rustling, footfalls and hushed voices before he was submerged in Bacta. After that. Complete silence. The benefits of the medicinal goop, he guessed.

And things had been silent for a long, long time. Longer than what he was used to, anyway. For once, he got a good few hours of uninterrupted sleep. No alerts or alarms... And certainly no haunting whispers or vivid memories. Just. Complete peace.

 _Come home..._

His eyes snapped open wide, his breathing and heart rate increasing quickly as panic washed over him upon coming to full consciousness. Of course such a moment of pure bliss would be ruined in a matter of seconds. And what better way than to disrupt his long, desired sleep than with _That Moment._ Again, those lucid images played over and over in his head like a broken holovid. His face, that hand, _that look_. The life draining from those eyes. Eyes that held no anger or hatred; just concern, worry, sorrow. Why was this happening? He had killed before with no remorse or regret. Yet this death chose to haunt him. He should have been over it by now, but he wasn't. Why?

Upon seeing that Ren had awoken and was stirring about restlessly, the medical droid began the process of removing him from the Bacta tank. Though he was freed from the container of gelatinous sludge, Ren was forced to remain in the infirmary until General Hux approved his full release. Which could only mean that he and the General were about to have a face-to-face conversation. One Ren was not particularly looking forward to, especially when nursing his Bacta hangover.

While lying there on one of the many medical beds, awaiting the arrival of the bitter red-head, he stared at the ceiling above him with his hands settled on his stomach. Once more his mind was a warzone; not only was his head throbbing mildly, thoughts were slamming into each other in a fight for dominance. He didn't know how much time had actually passed between now and the fall of Star Killer Base; to him it felt like only a few hours. He guessed Hux would inform him of just how much time had actually passed when he got there; no doubt to rub it in his face that he had to _heroically save Ren from the crumbling planet killer._

That man irritated him.

Quickly ridding himself of the thoughts surrounding Hux and how much of an ass he would be when he arrived; Ren allowed himself to reflect on previous events. Most notably: The girl.

The scavenger, he thought. A woman shrouded in mystery. A mystery he was very interested in solving. She was not trained in the Force, not really, but their mental and physical battles that day showed she had so much potential. Potential that was rotting and wasting away into nothingness. He knew for a fact that her special talents and abilities were being overlooked by the Resistance forces she sided with. And if she did manage to find her way to Skywalker; the old geezer would inevitably train her. But he knew, again for a fact, that Luke would limit her, keep her chained and held back from fully utilizing her Force capabilities. That was not the kind of teacher she needed.

And their duel; she wielded Anakin's saber with such ease despite her fumbles and obvious lack of training. He had to admit that, even with her poor form, he found himself a little in awe of her budding skills. So rusty and unclean, but still capable of defending and attacking. And she was so small. A tiny, little lady holding her own against him; a towering monstrosity of a man. Her saber skills were non-existent, but still she managed to wound him more than once. One fight, and she was already showing promising signs.

His face twitched just slightly to the thought of that battle and his hand reached up to his face. The bare tips of his fingers brushed against the scarred tissue that now stained his face. Though the Bacta had healed him, the marks remained. Specifically this one. The final blow she had delivered before disappearing off into the woods, leaving him in the snow. His thoughtful expression shifted to a frown as he recalled that moment. The direction she ran, surely she aimed to find The Traitor. Her _friend._

His hand fell back to his stomach and a frustrated puff of air escaped his lips. He had offered to teach her, offered to show her and guide her down the path of true power. And she refused for the sake of the traitorous and rebellious scum she considered her friends. And what of him? Was he not endearing enough for her? Not strong enough? What made a worthless, cowardly traitor so special that even the promise of power could not overshadow it?

He felt his stomach churning and his skin crawling. He was disgusted. She chose her pathetic friendship over a position of importance and greatness. A place at his side, where she would no longer feel fear, where she could be unstoppable and free. But she refused his polite offers of companionship for that soldier. FN-2187. And the more he thought of it, the more he tried to understand what made the Stormtrooper more engaging than Darth Vader's heir, the more it angered him. So he rid himself of his thoughts of her. Storing them for him to analyze at a later date.

He then turned his focus onto a more pressing matter... _That Memory_ which haunted-

And then the doors to the infirmary slid open, catching Ren's strayed attention like a startled cat. His eyes snapped toward the door; only for his gaze to be met with none other than Hux himself who now stood in the doorway leading into the room. A brief stare down took place before Ren's eyes rolled back up toward the ceiling, his upper lip curling in annoyance that he took no care in hiding. So of course, Hux noticed and could only scowl in return.

"Is that how you properly thank the man who saved your life?" Hux asked dryly.

"If I recall; it was the Stormtroopers who carried my body to the infirmary; _not you_." Ren retorted.

He could see, out of the corner of his eye, the expression on the General's face. He saw his jaw clench and wiggle just slightly in frustration. Almost immediately the General had lost his bragging rights. _Good._

Hux entered the room, hands placed neatly behind his back to square out his posture. Once he deemed himself far enough into the room; he stopped, cleared his throat and cast aside the angered expression he was previously wearing.

"The Supreme Leader demands your presence once you are well enough to stand; which for you, should be a quick recovery... Since you didn't take _that_ much damage; unlike Star Killer Base." Hux explained, muttering the last bit to himself. There was a short pause, and Ren could sense the bitterness rising from the General." Though I have to wonder what put you in that sorry state to begin with? Did the Resistance sent their strongest to face you?"

Ren's face twitched again. While it did indeed take three individuals to take him down, Hux would use such knowledge to his advantage. A wookie, a traitor and a scavenger managed to best him. He, the man trying to be Sith, the prized weapon of Snoke; taken down by nobodies... He'd never hear the end of it.

"They sent their best," He answered, half-truthfully, of course." They swarmed me, mercilessly, so they could take the scavenger."

Hux sneered slightly." That scavenger, again..." He murmured." Star Killer Base was destroyed because of your reckless decision to leave the droid in favor of _that girl_. Had you done your job correctly we could have had the map to Skywalker, you wouldn't be lying in an infirmary, we wouldn't be scattered all over the place and we would have won this bloody war."

Ren shifted his gaze to the furthest end of the room, away from Hux. While anger was beginning to bubble up inside him-because he could not stand it when Hux picked away at him-he found himself unable to argue back. As much as it made him sick to admit it even mentally to himself; Hux was right. And something in his gut told him Snoke was going to be furious at the fact he had failed so... Miserably.

"You will be released from the infirmary once the medical droid deems you functional enough to go back to work." Hux said, catching Ren's strayed attention." I will inform the Supreme Leader you've awoken and will be meeting with him soon."

"In the comm-room?" Ren asked.

"Face-to-face." Hux answered as he turned." Apparently, your training is to be concluded. What that means, I will leave up to you to discover. Because, unlike you, the rest of us do not have the luxury or time to sit around chatting idly. For we are all far too busy cleaning up the mess you made."

And with that, Hux left the room; taking all his bitter air with him.

Ren watched as the sour orange-haired man disappeared behind the sliding door, and slowly he returned his gaze to the ceiling above him. As if his mind wasn't restless enough as is, now a thousand new questions began buzzing wildly in his head.

"Complete my training...?"


End file.
